In A Moment
by 087-B
Summary: (Challenged to write this). A depressed boy somehow appears in the parallel world of the Warners, and in the blink of an eye, becomes stuck with them against his own will. As he tries to get away from the happy contrast to his sad life, will he find a way to get back home? Or will he be about ready to throw himself out of a window? Rated T for darker themes and "naughty" language.
1. Intro

**I just can't finish one story before starting another. Don't worry, this one should be short-ish. And you'll just have to deal with that fact that I start tons of things and take years to finish them :D**

**Okay, I can explain.**

**A friend from school challenged me to write a self insertion story for Animaniacs and I accepted it. Now while I do it hate self insertion, I thought it was a great challenge and decided to attempt to make a brilliant (or at least decent) self insert story.**

**Note: I have not toonified myself in this story! I'm also _NOT_ depressed in real life! I will alert you how much of my self insert is actually based on the real me so you don't get the wrong idea and think of me as a schizophrenic who you'd probably not want to talk to (I don't have schizophrenia btw).**

**Any unanswered questions will be answered later! Don't assume I won't answer any questions. I'll explain a little more about this st****ory and it's premise in the next chapter. Speaking of chapters, expect a new one every week or evey other week!**

**Hope you enjoy this mess of a story, now on with the show!**

* * *

**Intro: Not Your Average Self-Insertion**

* * *

Here.

He was here.

He was here, of all places, _here_.

He stood on the hill and looked down at the facility. Clenching his fists, he heaved a sigh of frustration.

He had read about this kind of thing, criticized it and down right flamed it. And now, he was in the middle of it.

Unfortunately, he was in front of the one place he dared not dream of visiting.

The Warner Brothers' Studio Lot.

He was a fan of the show, sure, and he wrote about it a bit, but actually coming here, entering the realm of this...place...was not what he wanted.

He was depressed. Not a simple "bad day" depression, depressed on the sulking level, the cut yourself level, the commit suicide level.

When he was depressed he was angry, and when he was neither, he was neutral. He wasn't incredibly fond of happy things; the show was an exception.

So why didn't he like this? Any other fan would've.

He was still human, thank god; everything he had read on this topic featured the transformations of the self-inserts. Why was that? Were people THAT into the show?

It was strange. The wind blew through his hair as he narrowed his eyes down at the gates that lead into the studio. In a normal fan's eyes, they would see this as a huge opportunity to gush over the toons they adored.

He saw the hill going downwards as a descending stairwell, and the gates into the studio were the gates of hell. Symbolism, something he had learned in school. He couldn't believe he was using such a thing.

Plus side to this nightmare; he was away from school.

Minus side; he was with them.

He'd try and get away, get home, but they'd hinder his progress, like some kind of...snag. As long as he made no interactions with those three, he could possibly get off Scott free.

But if he didn't go in, he wouldn't have to encounter them.

But where else would he go?

"Okay, let me think this through..." He said to himself. "If I go near Ralph, there is the possibility they'll zip by. Scratchensniff is also a bad place to hang, they'll be there shouting Hello Nurse like complete loons, any other toon would report my presence..."

One thought struck his mind.

"Maybe Plotz, maybe him...if I can somehow get to him without THEM noticing me, perhaps I can get through this without being burdened..."

And as he forced another sigh from his throat, he trekked down the hill and towards the gates.

* * *

The security box was empty. Ralph was out chasing them, most likely. He'd have to be much more careful not to get caught by anybody, as now he was breaking and entering.

He slipped in and looked around, pressing himself against two walls as to make himself look inconspicuous, though he really just looked dumb.

The whole lot seemed eerily empty, very quiet. Not normal.

Then, he heard footsteps and voices, familiar voices, nearing him. He slid out of the facility and pressed himself against the outside wall. Logic was what he needed to use here; hopefully he could, for once in his life, become a Mary Sue of hiding.

The voices zoomed by, quickly and almost not understandable. He peered in to the lot and looked around. Nothing. Thank god.

Plotz building was very close to the entrance, though it was also very close to the water tower, which he could see from here. If he could just get to that building quick enough...

He kept repeating his thoughts as he made a mad dash for one of the buildings. He pressed himself against the wall and held his breath. After a few seconds, he ran for the next building and repeated the process.

He panted and looked towards the sky. He heard a bird tweeting somewhere.

"Dear god..." He tried to control his panting and mouthed a prayer to himself. "If anything goes wrong...give me one final blessing and strike me down with lightening, to take me away from the hell I do not belong. Bring me to your heaven so I can be at peace..."

He looked around again and sprinted towards the next building. The coloring was familiar. This was it, Plotz's office building. He looked around once more and stood completely still, scanning his surroundings: more than just a quick look around, he looked at every possible place he could view at the angle he was standing. Nothing. Once again, thank god. He slowly opened the door and slipped inside.

This was where the people were. They all walked around quickly, entering and exiting elevators, walking and talking on their phones, exchanging papers; nobody payed him any mind; like all of them, he was not a toon but a normal (for the most part) human boy. He approached the reception desk and looked at the bell that rested there.

The ding it made was oddly normal.

The receptionist twirled around in his chair, chatting on a landline in a strangely feminine voice. His lanky body, cloaked in a purple button-up shirt which was tucked into slim black corduroy jeans, signified he was almost like a stereotypical adult geek. He over dramatically slammed the phone down and clasped his hands together, twiddling his thumbs. Was he a toon? He didn't look like one...

"Hmm, well hello there young man!" His voice sounded like some kind of mix between a snooty pharmacist and a drama club member; definitely feminine. "Now what can I do for you today, hm?"

"Um...I don't mean to be a bother...but could you direct me to Mr. Plotz offices as quickly as humanly possible?" A strange, churning feeling in the boy's gut made him feel like the danger he had been trying to avoid was slowly starting to creep up on him.

"Yeppers! Just go on up to the fourth floor and it should be the door at the far end of the hall!"

* * *

Thank the lord again that the elevators were fast. He cautiously strolled down the hall, but it felt...weird...like it was getting narrower and narrower.

And yet the feeling was gone in a moment.

After he reached the door, he politely knocked; he may have been a depressed lunatic but he wasn't an asshole.

"Come in." Came an all too familiar gruff reply. He slowly opened the door and came face to face with the older male.

Thaddeus Plotz.

"What is it, boy? What do you want?" He asked gruffly. "I have lots of work to do, hurry it up."

He took a seat.

"I...need help." The boy said. "What I'm about to say will sound really...REALLY a far fetched and crazy, but please just hear me out."

"Will it be worth my while?" Plotz crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I can tell you that at least it won't involve them..." The boy said. "You know...those three..."

Plotz shuddered a bit. "Glad it doesn't involve them."

"And please...whatever you do, PLEASE make sure they don't know I'm here!" The boy suddenly pleaded, catching Plotz off guard. "I really don't need to be burdened. Help me and I'll be out of the way faster than you can ask 'what the hell was that?'."

Plotz thought for a few moments. Moments turned to a full minute.

"...Please tell me calmly, ill see to your problem however I can." The man finally said. "And I'll keep you under wraps from...them." The boy sighed in relief.

"Thank you, really." He said. "Now, to begin, I-"

The desk drawer shot open.

Plotz turned quickly and the boy barely uttered a "no" before three black and white figures burst out of the small space.

"Hello!" They all shouted in unison.

The boy, in his head, pictured himself getting hit by a car.

'If only that actually happened right now...' He thought. 'God, why aren't you striking me with lightening?!'

**-(End Of Chapter)-**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone, sorry for taking so long to update. The scheduled day of updating this story, I reread the chapter and thought; "Oh god, this is a horrible draft", do I took the time to rewrite it.**

**I took too much time. But hey, now I'm finally updating it! No joke! And I'm updating it today for a special reason…**

**Today, April 1st, happens to be **_**my birthday**_**!**

**Yep, it's true! No April-Fools prank here!**

**Anyways, enjoy this chapter, will you? On with the show, then!**

**PS: There's cussing in this chapter, as per usual with my writing, so if you don't like that stuff, Be Warner!**

**...I mean be warned...**

* * *

**Chapter 1: An Unwanted Chance Encounter**

* * *

The room was silent.

For a fraction of a second.

"Hmm? Who's the new guy, TP?" The tallest one had asked, making a curious gesture towards the boy, who turned away and stared off into the ozone layer, trying not to make any awkward eye contact.

He'd run for the hills if he could, but the problem with that was they would catch him and force him to stay.

Against his own will.

'Wait...' The boy thought. 'That's right...unlike all of the other self inserts I've read, I actually have control over what I say and do! I can put logic and reasoning to illogical and unreasonable things! I can use the rights that all Americans have to my advantage! I can give good reasons as to why they shouldn't be allowed to keep me around! Maybe I can get the hell out of here after all!'

"You have a weird smile. Are you okay?" The capped one had walked in front of the boy who absentmindedly smiled at his own thoughts. He shook himself back to reality, or whatever this place was, and looked at the four curious faces; Plotz shrugged and didn't know what to say. Normally he'd be yelling at the trio but right now he could only watch as the interest in the the three began to shift to the boy.

He stood up and forced another sigh; he sounded like he was trying to be as obnoxious as possible. "Mr. Plotz, do you have a bathroom? I need to...recollect my thoughts."

"Umm...yes, third floor, first door on the right." Plotz directed. The boy left the room, and as he neared the elevator, he heard shouting ensue in the office.

* * *

He stared at himself in the mirror. He noticed the bags under his eyes as his expression turned to a scowl.

He screwed up.

He screwed up horribly.

They knew of his existence now. And he screwed up.

"Maybe it won't be so bad." He told himself. "Oh who the fuck am I kidding, this is gonna be terrible. Utterly terrible."

He stood still and didn't move; he could only hear the ticking of the cheap wall clock. After minutes he breathed out loudly from his nostrils.

"Why can't things be simple?" He asked himself. "God's plan is really weird...I just have to be around them, as much as I don't want to, and if I run away they'll get suspicious...or maybe they won't be interested and they'll leave me alone?"

Time to take a chance.

A really bad chance.

He left the restroom and slowly trudged back up to the third floor by the use of the incredibly pointless long stairs. He hoped their interests would shift over to something else by this point.

Perhaps they did; the office was only inhabited by Plotz when he returned. The man stared at his overturned office desk and opened file cabinets, papers strewn across the floor.

The man looked calmly agitated, like a ticking time bomb, as if one more thing would set him off. He sighed and continued to stare, muttering something under his breath.

The boy absentmindedly started to pick up the papers when he thought about something; what made the trio up and leave? Surely they would have stayed to meet the new guy, right? Where had they scampered off to?

Prior knowledge told him they were still nearby; they never left entirely until they actually got bored.

"You, uh, don't need to pick anything up. I can take care of it all." Plotz said.

"Sir...I'd at least like to help in someway." The boy said. "Had I arrived in a...different manor, and if my actions were slightly different...I feel your opinion of me would have been misconstrued."

Plotz didn't exactly understand the meaning of what he had said, but the boy knew all too well he was talking about. Had he been thrown into the cliche wormhole he would have been spat out into this world as an overly energetic toon-turned fanboy.

And had he become that, he probably would have impaled himself on the gates of the studio.

He finished picking up and the papers and stacked them neatly in a pile on the floor, then helped pick up the desk.

Never expected them to get this rowdy...wait, yes I did.

"Thank you for the help, uh..." Plotz stopped himself, unsure of what to call the boy.

"...Jake, call me Jake." The boy muttered. He finished helping fix the office and took a pen and slip of paper from the desk. He earned a quizzical look from Plotz as he started writing.

"Um, what are you writing?" Plotz was handed the slip of paper as soon as he finished the sentence.

"I don't trust speaking my problem out loud." Jake muttered. "This paper should explain everything; that I know of, at least."

He straightened his shirt and left without another word, muttering something about 'not wanting to be caught up in the middle of something unprofessional'.

And of course, as soon as the office door shut, three toons shot into the room out of nowhere and snatched up the slip of paper out of Plotz's hand after he had read it over.

"What the-" Plotz watched the three toons bounce off of the wall and land in the middle of the room with ease. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Give me that note and get out of here!"

"Hmm..." The tallest one inspected the paper, donning a monocle out of nowhere. "This is a very interesting story, but I'm afraid that we'll have to confiscate this note."

The tallest slipped the note into his trousers and proceeded to leave the room with the two others, but he stopped and turned to face the man. "I find this story very hard to believe, some kind of dimensional warp..."

Plotz was about to disagree when he thought about it. "Well the idea of jumping dimensions is very far fetched...almost cliche. You do have a point about this potentially being fake, Warner...what do you suggest?"

The tallest one grinned slyly, and the two shorter ones followed suite.

"I'm considering finding this kid and asking him about the credibility of his supposed predicament. I say we make him reconsider trying to fool dull knives like you, T.P.!"

Plotz growled and shouted at the trio to leave. Of course, then he thought about the note more.

"Well I can see the story being unbelievable, but...is making the child a special friend necessary?" The man said to himself. "If he's not from around here, then he won't survive being hit by a falling anvil..."

* * *

The streets were, strangely, still empty. Jake strolled towards the entrance, occasionally looking over his shoulder. He didn't feel like he was alone; some weird sixth sense told him something was possibly nearby.

It was like that movie, The Sixth Sense...wait, no it wasn't.

His mind dawdled from his main point of focus. Why couldn't some _other _major fan be teleported here?

If he could get outside of the gates, he'd be home free, home _fucking _free.

But then again, he'd need to be quicker than he was now.

But if he ran, he'd probably be spotted.

Watching a lot of...specific television shows, had helped him learn to think far ahead and assess his situations carefully. Right now, though, no matter how fast he could potentially be in running, he'd never beat the speed carried by seemingly every toon to ever exist or have existed.

It was strangely abnormal, how they did it was a mystery...

But then again, this was a cartoon, and cartoons could do anything.

He was most likely screwed if anything "illogical" were to happen to him, such as an anvil falling out of the sky…

Which was happening to him, apparently, because as soon as he glanced up, he leaped out of the way in fright as a large, iron anvil plummeted to the ground upon which he once stood, followed by three black blurs zooming towards him.

* * *

**-(End Of Chapter)-**

* * *

**Not incredibly proud of this chapter, I really think it could have been better...I'm just out of the loop for writing for Animaniacs and I suck at writing happy stuff (which is why I never write it) like the Warners' behaviors. But, you know, this is not a joke chapter, so...yeah.**

**Hope you've enjoyed, I'd love any and all thoughts and criticism, and stay tuned for more.**

**~087-B**


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